


cabin fever

by covertinferno



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cigarette Daydreams, Damaged Souls, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Heathers AU, Heathers: The Musical References, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You but You Scare Me Sometimes, I Would Die For You, JD gets help, Musical References, Reconciliation, Senior year, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Veronica Sawyer Needs Help, Winter Break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covertinferno/pseuds/covertinferno
Summary: As snow piles up and concerning tendencies begin to make their untimely reappearance, Veronica Sawyer worries that the town and the boy she once loved may not make it through the holidays.
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean & Veronica Sawyer, Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Modern Heathers AU where JD survives the bombing & seeks psychiatric help. References to character deaths are made and the struggles of mental health + negative mannerisms/behaviors are explored. Cursing, drinking, and smoking are shown throughout the work.

Winter Break means different things to the people of Sherwood, Ohio. To workers, it means an increase in sales. To parents, it means 2 weeks of non-stop bullshit. To students, it means relaxation and fun. To Veronica Sawyer, it means being forced to cope with the aftermath of her actions.

Death is a plague. It lingers and corrupts, slowly draining its host of their energy and their soul. It stains tongues blue and sticks to shivering hands, painted crimson. It's the sound of gunshots being fired in a bleak, open field-- echoing as the sun rises. It's polished wooden coffins being slammed shut and thrown into a make-shift grave. It is a parasite that clings to you and sucks you dry.

Veronica Sawyer’s hair is limp and brittle. Her eyes are distant and sunken in, hiding behind dark eye-bags. She carries herself with an undeniable sadness. It's as though she's a thin sheet of ice sitting atop a raging lake. It's eating her up inside. She's so tired and so frantic and so paranoid all the time. Her heart beats erratically, her shoulders ache, and her mind is scattered. Even now, as she sits in this (irritatingly) bright room, tapping her foot against the white tile floor-- all she can do is attempt to focus on her inconsistent breathing.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Exhale. Exhale? In-Ex-In-

"You okay?"

Her head snaps up, looking at the pitiful excuse for a boy sat in front of her. Jason Dean, in all his fucked-up glory, stares her down. He seems concerned, to say the least. His eyebrows are furrowed, making the corners of his dull-blue eyes crinkle. His freckled hands loosely hang together in his lap, his thumbs twitching occasionally-- like he wants to fidget, but can't bring himself to do so. As if it hurts him to move.

"Veronica?" He speaks again, clearly this time.

"Yeah? Mhm." She straightens up in her chair, attempting to force a smile. "These lights are just making me a bit dizzy."

"You can always just... I don't know, wait outside?" He offers. "Doctor will be here soon, anyways. Shouldn't be a long wait."

"Uh, yeah." Veronica stands up, letting her trembling hands slip into the pockets of her coat. She prays he doesn't notice. "I'll wait for you in the car, actually. Just meet me there when you’re done, alright?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but she's already making her way out of the room. It shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't be here. Despite the progress he's made, despite all the doctors and the therapists and the medicines, despite the world letting her know that things are okay and getting better-- Veronica can't accept it as reality.

Because when she looks at him, she sees a beast waiting for the tiniest whiff of blood. An excuse, a reason to send himself into a carnivorous rage.

The car is (steadily) heating up, much to Veronica's relief. Goosebumps prickle her arms as hot air flows through the car fans. Finally, a chance to breathe. Away from the hospital, the beeping machines, the chattering doctors, from him. Him and his dark, grown-out waves of hair that constantly gets in his eyes. His tattered coats. His sickly-pale skin, riddled with scars. Him and his anguish, his remorse, his tears, his pleads, his fear, his recovery, his shame, and his love. His blistering, bleeding love.

Though Veronica can't understand why, Jason Dean still harbors an unwavering sense of devotion towards her. You'd think she'd enjoy it, that she'd forgive him and love him openly and wholeheartedly— but the symptoms of his toxic affection still persist. Glares of warning, fists shaking with irritation and resistance, his voice booming and rearing back almost simultaneously at the sight of her flinching. 

Jason Dean is fragile. So irrevocably damaged, that even months of professional guidance could not plug his own destructive nature. But, he's trying. Whether it be for himself or for her, he's making an effort. Letting go of his own skewed perceptions of morality and working to achieve a 'better' sense of judgement. Maybe that made him brave? But, he didn't just have a fucked up mindset. He acted on it. He murdered and did so without care, dragging her down with him. That's not brave at all.

Veronica hates to admit it, but there's still a love for him rooted deep within her; though she has trouble deciphering if it's truly her feelings, or just the knotted strings of what was— those threads he used to pull so effortlessly.

Knuckles rap gently against her passenger-side window, ripping her away from her own intrusive thoughts.

"Sorry." She leans over to unlock the door, uncertain if he even heard her. "What did the doctor say?"

JD, practically, glides into his seat, handing her a paper bag— like it's some kind of answer. She falters, giving him an odd look. 

"Did... did you-?"

"No, I didn't buy weed." He scoffs, grabbing at his seatbelt with one hand. "Just open it."

Ignoring how easy it was for him to figure out what she was thinking, Veronica Sawyer looks down at the bag with disdain. There's no prescription label on it, not even his name— just a wrinkled brown paper bag.

"I'll kick you out of my car." Veronica warns, natural curiosity getting the better of her as she looks in. She sees, not clumps of green, but a journal of some kind. Thin, relatively-small, accompanied by a set of colored pens. The cover is slick, and despite its slender appearance, there's an abundance of paper.

"Your therapist gave you a diary?" She questions, tilting her head to the side. "For what?"

"Well, for nightmares, mainly. But, she said I should use it whenever I'm feeling... rough."

"Never took you for much of a writer."

"I'm not."

"Then why does she think you'd keep up with this thing?"

"Because," he shifts uncomfortably, head turning to look out at the frost steadily building up on the car window, "It reminds me of you."

"Oh."

A heavy silence falls between them, filled by nothing more than the sound of wheels shifting against road salt and gravel.

A blizzard is set to hit Sherwood, Ohio soon— and here she is lugging her (once?) sociopathic ex-boyfriend, who still loves her and who she, maybe, still kinda loves back, around like a goddamned Uber.

Isn’t she just the epitome of main-character syndrome?


	2. Cherry Slush On the Sidewalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As snow piles up and concerning tendencies begin to make their untimely reappearance, Veronica Sawyer worries that the town and the boy she once loved may not make it through the holidays.

“Good Evening, Sherwood! Hope you got your shovels ready, because this storm is gonna be a big one!”

The obnoxiously perky radio host's voice consumes the car speakers, disrupting the music that both JD and Veronica were forcing themselves to listen to. They haven’t said a single word since they’ve pulled out of the parking lot.

“Snowfall is expected to begin no later than 12pm tomorrow. Y’know what that means, don’t ya Barbara? The kids still have school!”

“Shit.” JD sighs, hitting his head back gently against the headrest. 

“You wanted them to cancel?” Veronica asks, focused on the red light in front of her.

“I was hoping for a two-hour delay, at least.” His eyes are on the sky, which churns slowly. “I’m really not in the mood for German.”

“Yeah… I wouldn’t be either.” Her head bobs in agreement, accompanied by an awkward attempt at a chuckle. “It’s a confusing language.”

He looks up at the clouds with a sense of guilt, saying nothing in response. Because he knows.

“I think our little town can get through this,” the man on the radio continues, “But, remember to be ready. Salt your sidewalks, buy your groceries, and check in on those kids! That seasonal depression stuff can hit hard. We wouldn’t want another Heather Chandler situation now, would we?”

Much to Veronica’s surprise, JD turns off the radio with an alarming ferocity, earning himself a stare. She’s become so desensitized to the mention of Heather Chandler. She assumed JD felt the same way, or some variation of it. But, it appears as though he hasn’t moved on. It’s like a fresh wound, still stinging upon contact with rubbing alcohol.

And though all she wants to do is go home and sit on her kitchen floor, letting the ghosts plaguing her roam free— she still tries to make him feel better.

The turn signal blinks, and before JD can really process what she’s doing, Veronica is already mid-way through a gigantic U-Turn.

“Um, my house is that way.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So… where are we… going?”

“I’m thirsty.” Her eyes glance to the side with quick caution as she switches lanes. “And… I kind of want a Big Gulp right now.”

JD looks down at his hands, which are twitching with nervousness. Their relationship is tense and confusing and strained; still, Veronica Sawyer never fails to make his heart completely dissolve.

Those feelings have eaten away at JD since he first got a glimpse at who Veronica Sawyer truly was. A genuine kind soul in the midst of a multi-colored snack aisle. She had thick, wild hair and a chaotic grin. Freckles splattered on the bridge of her nose, vaguely hidden by concealer. She wore blue, just like she had at school. There was something so appealing in her boisterous laugh, dramatic expressions, and the way she held the slushie he offered her with both hands.

And now?

Veronica Sawyer rarely laughs, at least, not sincerely. She’s thinner, paler, and sicker. She thinks he doesn’t notice, but he’s well aware of her dizzy-spells. He knows she ditches 6th period once every two weeks because she becomes so ill she breaks out into a sweat and pukes her guts out.

She used to be made of platinum. But, as he watches her get out of the car— there’s no denying that she has been reduced to glass.

“I can pay.” JD closes the car door, wincing a bit at the loud thud. 

“No, I got it.” Veronica waves her hand, dismissing him completely as they walk. “This is my treat.”

“Oh. Um.. Thanks.” His hand reaches for the door handle, pulling slowly. He steps aside in an attempt to give her space, but she just looks up at him with those coffee-ground eyes, standing just a few inches away. 

Veronica says nothing.

She steps into the convenience store, leaving him to choke on his own tongue. The tips of his ears burn, and he can feel warmth pooling in his cheeks. And no, it’s not a result of the chilly winter air. He wonders if she stared at him like that on purpose, or maybe she’s just oblivious to the way he still feels about her? God, he’s such a complete fucking mess.

“Hey, you’re letting all the hot air escape!” The cashier yells at JD, snapping the teenager out of his daze.

“Sorry! Sorry, dude.” JD quickly steps into the 7/11, trying to evade the stink-eye the cashier is giving him by sliding into the candy aisle. To no one’s surprise, Veronica is already there— a bag of Twizzlers clutched underneath her arm.

“Didn’t know you were all buddy-buddy with the cash register guy.” Veronica utters sarcastically. “He’s your, what was it again… dude?”

“You’re not funny.” JD scoffs, rolling his eyes in (mild) embarrassment. 

“Yeah…” She trails off, as if she’s not quite there. Like someone else is talking to her, breaking her down. “I guess I’m not.”

She zones out often. At first glance, you’d think she was stoned out of her mind. It’s like she lets go of her body and wanders elsewhere. Her face, practically, goes slack— yet, her eyes become intense. 

And terrifying.

He wants to act like he doesn’t know why it happens but, naturally, the fates decided to burden him with that knowledge.

Because Martha Dunnstock used to come up to him after math class and tell him about Veronica rambling to nothingness and talking to herself under her breath. Martha was scared & desperate.

He sighs, turning around. He’ll do the shopping himself, for V’s sake.

As snacks get seized up by his greedy hands, he begins to reminisce on those conversations. They lasted, what? 4 minutes tops? And still, it always feels like years worth of torture.

. . .

“Hey, JD?” A sheepish, soft voice calls out to him. She sounds like a mouse, and yet, she’s doesn’t seem to be afraid. 

JD closes his eyes, sighing quietly. Is he really ready for another Veronica talk? 

“It’s about… her.” Martha continues, walking into the classroom as students pool out. Some snicker at her, others go about their business, and one boy decides to be funny and make kissy noises— unbothered by JD’s ice-cold glare. Now that JD is universally recognized as ‘Veronica Sawyer’s shitty ex-boyfriend’, people aren’t too intimidated by him anymore. 

“Yeah, I figured.”

“I can’t tell if she’s getting better or worse.” Martha clenches her hands together. “She just… she just slips out of it. We’ll be watching a movie and not even ten minutes later, she looks so… dead! And I’ve tried to shake her out of it, but that only leads to her panicking. She’s even scratched me, fighting me, like I’m hurting her. It’s like she’s seeing things that aren’t there. I just… I want to be there for her, but I don’t know how.”

“You know I can’t help you with this, right?” He shrugs his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t… I can’t help her.”

“Yes, you can.” She steps in front of him, blocking his path. Her persistence has to be her most annoying quality. “I’ve known Ronnie for a long time, but I wasn’t there for her when she changed. You were. If you won’t help, then the least you could do is tell me why she’s reacting the way she is! It can’t just be over the break-up, she’s not like that!”

She committed murders. It would surprise JD is she was still right in the head.

“I’m so sorry, Martha.”

And he leaves her in that classroom all alone, trying to ignore the defeat painted all over her face.

. . .

An icy sensation brings JD to a halt. Oh, right. He steps away from the Slurpee machine, reaching for a napkin. He wipes the sides of a green and purple cup. Guess he overdid it.

He manages to bring everything to the register, including V’s pack of Twizzlers. She’s slow to react, just staring as he dumps everything in front of the cashier. By the time everything gets rung up and stuffed in bags, Veronica has only just made it to JD’s side. 

“Come on.” He whispers, almost sadly.

She follows, the cold air outside smacking her in the face. She blinks, looking around for a few seconds.

“Oh my god, JD I’m so sorry!” She covers her hand with her mouth, turning to face him. “I wasn’t really paying attention, um, here, let me pay you back-”

“It’s fine, V.” He shakes his head, handing her a cup. “It’s not a big gulp, but…”

She takes it into her hands, staring down at the red pool of crushed ice. It’s too cold for this.

“Woah! Hey, be careful.” His hand grabs at her wrist, and cherry syrup dribbles down her fingers. “You were tilting it too much.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay, V?”

“Mhm.” She nods, and it seems like JD can see right through her. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t let go yet. Because he knows her too well. His fingers are warm, oddly reassuring. Veronica can’t help but think that his hands look nice when they aren’t smeared in blood. Meanwhile, Kurt and Ram have sidled up by her side, staring at JD in disdain. Their pale, transparent fingers prod at her back— causing her to uncomfortably straighten her spine. “I just… need to take my meds soon.”

JD forces himself to move past the shit excuse. He lets go as she tenses up, although hesitant. He can’t deny that touching her, feeling her skin against his, sends an electrical-like current down his spine. It’s a sickly feeling, similar to yearning. 

“Take this, it’s yours.” He gently shoves a bag her way, trying to appear unbothered by the physical contact.

“Thank you, Jason.”

His shoulders slump at those words. She shouldn’t be thanking him for anything. She should be yelling and kicking, fueled with vengeance. He hurt her so badly, so consistently. She’s in so much pain and he lives in so much fear, and it’s all his fault. It’s all his fault and she’s still thanking him.

“Let’s just go.” He turns around, not bothering to wait for her. And though his face is flushed with embarrassment, he carries himself as coldly as the winter air bellowing around them.

After a few seconds of contemplation, Veronica makes the decision to take a willing step towards him. Maybe she can catch up to him and tell him that she’s not okay, that she wants help, and that she wants to be able to look at him & not feel the burden of their sins weighing heavy on her shoulders. Would he grab her face gently, like he did her wrist just a few seconds ago? Tell her it’s okay? That he’ll be there for her? Love her, even?

Kurt wraps an arm around her shoulders as she watches JD go, a ‘tsk’ escaping his bloody lips as Ram strays away in an attempt to kick at a pebble.

“Ouch.” Kurt hisses in her ear, mocking her state. “And here I thought our two little lovebirds were having a moment. Were you trying to make me jealous, hm?”

“Shut up.” Veronica bows her head slightly, wishing she could ignore the weight sinking into the pit of her stomach.

“You know it’s stupid, being nice to him. Loving him.” Ram yawns, narrowing his eyes at his nemesis: the rock. “He’ll hurt you all over again.”

“He’ll kill you, like he killed us. Like you killed us!” They yell, causing her brain to tremble in her skull. And then they laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh until she grows sick of listening to it.

A violent thrust. A plastic cup ricocheting off concrete. Red mush splattered everywhere.

Kurt and Ram are nowhere to be seen. But she can still hear them, still feel them prancing around the edges of her mind— taunting her. And Chandler just grins. The Beauty Queen waits with a thinning patience, like the lion waits for the gazelle.

When JD looks out the passenger window as they drive away, he sees the aftermath of Veronica’s episode for himself.

Cherry slush splattered all over the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully kurt & ram’s dialogue was easy to comprehend! to clarify, they’re not really “ghosts”. only visible to veronica, they are manifestations of her inner turmoil that she can envision and will verbally interact with. just wanna clear that up because my fic has nothing to do with the paranormal/supernatural!


	3. Ghosts In Our Living Rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As snow piles up and concerning tendencies begin to make their untimely reappearance, Veronica Sawyer worries that the town and the boy she once loved may not make it through the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are clear implications of abuse & suicidal thoughts in this chapter

The lingering scent of day-old beer and the sound of complete silence are what greet Jason Dean as he walks into his shithole of a suburban home. It’s comforting, to say the least. No yelling, no glass bottles shattering against kitchen tile, and no Bud Dean standing there— fists itching for their fix of unnecessary, drunken violence.

He passes by the living room, not taking the time to notice the bubble wrap consuming photo frames and trophies alike. It’s a quick trip to the bedroom, and a race to lock the door— testing the doorknob several times before he’s satisfied. It’s both precaution and habit at this point, really. A guarantee that he’s safe, or at the very least, alone.

The plastic 7/11 bags get lightly tossed on the bed, which he then proceeds to collapse on. What a fucked up day. It could have been good, wonderful, even. An evening alongside Veronica Sawyer, what more could he have asked for? 

Oh, maybe some sanity? A time machine? A way to purge himself of this burning sin that scorches and chars his abdomen? A cigarette wouldn’t have hurt either. 

He just can’t shake away the sight of her in distress. Angry, disconnected, a barren husk. This Veronica is the product of his manipulation, obsession, and wrath. He projected his filth onto her clean slate, ruining her knowingly and with little remorse. 

It wasn’t an evening with Veronica Sawyer. It was a harrowing dance with his victim.

He used to hate using that word. When he first began meeting the therapists and psychologists, he was adamant about her sharing equal blame. She hated Kurt and Ram too. She hated Chandler first. She chickened out last minute and fucked everything up. She had sent him into an uncontrollable rage. She used & lied to him. Had it not been for that faulty bomb, she would have sadistically watched him blow into bits.

But with more talking, more time, he grew to realize just how… wrong he was. His perception was so skewed and biased. He forgot about her cries in the graveyard, her panic as Chandler collapsed, her pleading him to stop and simply live life alongside her, and the steps she took towards him at the very last second— yelling for his life. Even if it meant risking her own.

He turns over on his side, looking at the plastic bags. 

“Plastic?” He sits up as soon as the words make their way past his lips and, soon enough, he’s scrambling around the room. As if the rummaging would suddenly make the brown paper bag he once held in Veronica’s car suddenly reappear in his hands.

Her car! God, how could he have been so stupid? Though an excuse to see Veronica Sawyer again was thrilling, he couldn’t deny the feeling of guilt burrowing into the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want to keep hurting her.

He’s got his phone clutched in his hands, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

[‘Hey Ronnie!’] No, that’s too eager. [‘Hello, Veronica.’] What is he, a creep? [‘Hey, Veronica. Thanks for the ride today. I’m sorry to bug you so late, but I think I left my journal in your car? Could I swing by your place some time to pick it up?’] Yeah, that’s alright, isn’t it?

JD presses send with a heavy sigh, letting his phone fall out of his hands as he lays back down. Soon enough, his father’s drunken stomps can be heard echoing throughout the semi-barren house.

“We’re done! Jason, it’s all over now!” Bud cackles, his syllables toppling over one another as he slurs his words together.

JD stares up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to let loose and punch his wall. There’s just something about loud, shitty parents that makes a teenager want to rip their ears off.

“Pack up your bags, boy. End of this month,” knuckles drag across JD’s door, “We’re leaving this shit town and your whore with it.”

It didn’t sound like a drunken lie.

. . .

Veronica Sawyer stares up at her liquor cabinet, torn between indulgence and resistance. There’s this sickening temptation urging her to lose herself in bitter brandy and rum. It’s not like mom and dad are here to stop her. They’ve been gone for a few weeks now, leaving her with nothing except a “see you soon!” and a large bowl of pâté.

Fingers wrap around thick glass, weight settles into scarred palms, and her tongue recoils in disgust. God, she’ll never get used to the taste. It reminds her of blond hair, expensive shoes covered in puke, and the loud giggles of a girl consumed by her own popularity.

“Quit being such a little bitch, Veronica.” Heather Chandler drones, glaring from her spot on the couch. “I taught you to handle your booze better than that.”

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Veronica’s eyebrows raise as she pours herself another drink, putting up a polite front. “Surprised you didn’t join the boys earlier at 7/11.”

“Ugh, as if. I can’t stand those bozos.”

“Uh huh.” Veronica rolls her eyes, looking at her kitchen counters. Despite living here for so long, everything feels unfamiliar. It’s as though there’s this barrier preventing her from being able to melt into the comfort these walls once housed. 

It was always difficult expressing these feelings to the psychiatrists. How are you supposed to explain voices, visual hallucinations, and the sense of extreme disassociation without getting yourself handed off to a mental hospital? Sherwood is a conservative town, resources like that aren’t exactly a ten minute drive out. 

“Yet, you still do so much for JD.” Chandler critiques, processing her thoughts simultaneously alongside Veronica’s. “You put up all these excuses for yourself, but drop everything for him. Like you’re still his little bitch.”

“It’s not that deep, he just needs it more than I do.” Veronica counters, trying to take small sips between her words. “That’s all there is to it.”

A cold chill runs down her spine, and the color in Veronica’s eyes seem to dull as the pressure grips her harshly by the shoulders.

“You love to act all holy, Ronnie. But I know you, I shaped you. You’re rotting up inside and you’re using him to feel better, aren’t you?” Heather coos in her ear, showing no restraint with her words. “Or are you just making sure he won’t go berserk when you finally decide to end it all?”

Veronica whips around, only to face nothing. When did her breathing become so fast? Shit, she spilled her drink. Fuck, where are the paper towels? The words echo and vibrate in her skull, mulling over the dark realization she hadn’t been prepared to face. 

As if on cue, Veronica’s phone vibrates loudly as she places the bottles back. Oh, great. Because this day couldn’t get any more exciting.

She doesn’t have his number saved anymore, but with just a few swipes up, all their old conversations are laid out on a silver platter. How couldn’t she recognize him? His tone now is hesitant, he’s so much more stressed and forced with his words than he used to be.

[‘Hey, Veronica. Thanks for the ride today. I’m sorry to bug you so late, but I think I left my journal in your car? Could I swing by your place some time to pick it up?’]

[‘Stop by tomorrow, after school.’] She replies without a second thought. It’s not like the exchange would take long.

The sky prepares itself for a heavy snowfall, while Veronica prepares herself for another restless night riddled with nightmares.


	4. Why Murderers Walk Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As snow piles up and concerning tendencies begin to make their untimely reappearance, Veronica Sawyer worries that the town and the boy she once loved may not make it through the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw : suicidal thoughts // this chapter marks a new day in the story

“Jesus, Ronnie! Can you stop staring into your locker? We have to go to math! If I’m late again, I’ll get detention.”

Jason Dean looks up briefly from his German textbook, which he had been quickly skimming outside the door of his classroom in preparation for the quiz he’d have to suffer through. Heather McNamara is aggressively tugging on the sleeve of Veronica Sawyer’s sweater, to no avail.

There she goes again, slipping into a dissociative state. He can’t help but wonder what kind of things are running through her mind, or if it’s the lack of thoughts that render her out of touch with the world around her. 

The blonde cheerleader huffs, arms crossed over one another. She’s so childish with her mannerisms, like she was never given the opportunity to grow up properly. It suits her, oddly enough. Especially in that fuzzy yellow cardigan she has on, she looks like a grumpy duckling.

Her hazel eyes meet his own, and his observations come to a halt. Though he attempts to play it off and look down at his book again, sadly, McNamara isn’t that stupid.

“Hey there, Jay.” She chirps, lowering his textbook with a pale (perfectly manicured) hand.

“Jay?”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking of nicknames for you all night! JJ, Jace, Jimmy Dean,” she counts the names off on her fingers, “I thought Jay suited you better.”

“Gee, you shouldn’t have.” He stares unenthusiastically, though he’s more amused than annoyed.

“I know, right?! God, the things I do for Veronica’s boyfriend.”

“McNamara… You know we aren’t dating, right?”

“Still?!” Heather groans, leaning against the locker beside him. “You two are like two little lovesick puppies still gnawing on the same old bone. Get a new one!”

Sometimes, he wishes she still aggravated him. It feels wrong to not hate the existence of someone he used to be so keen on killing. He doesn’t deserve to feel so normal talking to her. It isn’t fair on Heather nor is it fair to Veronica, who can’t seem to escape his suffocating presence.

“It’s not really that simple.” JD forces a smile, for both of their sakes. 

“Why? Because you almost died over her? I mean, yeah. That was a shitty move, but I thought you two had worked that out.”

Though she isn’t all that far from the truth, Heather’s interpretation of what happened on the football field is pretty much aligned with the rest of the school’s. It was a total fucking lie.

When the bomb detonated, the explosion wasn’t as powerful as he had intended. Really, it only damaged his skin— while simultaneously wrecking itself in the process. The shrapnel shot out and away, leaving Jason with nothing but an unbearable heat. He remembers falling to the ground, his vision riddled with dark spots as the pain began to mess with his consciousness.

According to Veronica, paramedics, and police: V had screamed and run up to him, turning him on his back. Presuming him to be dead, she became hysterical. In her blind rage and grief, she began to tear away at what was left of the bomb, semi-burning her hands in the process.

Now that the evidence had been scattered, it looked like nothing more than burnt up junk. The police chose to treat it as such. They came forward to the local media saying that Jason Dean was a troubled youth who had become enamored with a girl that later dumped him. Heartbroken, he made a ‘sorry excuse for a bomb’, and planned to kill himself in front of her at school. Thanks to God, he’s still here to this day.

He was considered to be someone broken, stupid, and reckless. The deaths of his classmates had accumulated into stress, and the break-up had been his breaking point. In the end, he wasn’t labeled a domestic terrorist. Just a sad, lonely boy. Somehow, he was still the victim of the story. Many pitied him, others hated him. A few girls found it romantic and placed the blame on Veronica, while some couldn’t give two shits. What a load of bullshit.

“I was so sure you guys were dating again. Someone told me they spotted you guys holding hands at 7/11. Just like old times.”

“We weren’t,” JD attempts to fight the warmth threatening to flood his cheeks, “You need better sources.”

Silence falls between them, but it isn’t hostile. As he observes Heather, he can tell she’s thinking-- or at least, attempting to. 

“I know it seems weird that I, like, want you two back together,” Her thought process begins to unravel, “You did a fucked up thing. You hurt her. Everyone knows you did and, somehow, you got away with it.”

JD takes a step back as Heather McNamara stands in front of him once again, her eyes intense. Shit, was she always this eccentric?

“Veronica is one of my best friends. I want her to be happy, and I want her to be with someone she’s happy with. I know she loves you, believe me when I say she’s still drooling all over you,” The blonde girl rolls her eyes, “And I can tell that you still love her. Honestly, you’re so obvious about it, it’s kind of painful to watch. But, it’s also different? You love her in a good way now, a better way.” McNamara beams at him.

She’s so bright, JD can’t help but look away.

“I probably shouldn’t, but I have some hope in you.”

His fingers twitch with discomfort. There’s something in her tone that makes his chest swell up with uneasiness. Not because of her optimism or even her words, but her intentions. How can she feel secure in knowing that there’s a chance he and Veronica still have something requited? Why does she trust him? What does she stand to gain by encouraging him to become a better person? 

“You sound like Ms. Fleming.” He laughs, much to her offense.

“Ugh! You’re such a… a boy! Such a dumb boy!” Heather stomps on his foot before turning around, aware that it won’t hurt him.

It’s only then that JD notices Veronica staring at them, her brows furrowed and lips parted with words he can’t make out. She seems more aware, but low on energy. Shit, it didn’t look like he was trying anything with Heather, right? Meanwhile, McNamara is unbothered as she shuts the door to Veronica’s locker and drags the taller, brunette girl down the hall by the hand.

As the door to JD’s classroom opens, he can’t help but wonder… could Veronica still love him, in spite of all her pain? No, it couldn’t be. McNamara was just trying to goad him into acting on his feelings. But why? Was she trying to set him up for rejection? Permanently sever his ties to Veronica, maybe? Was the yellow-Heather really that possessive over her friendships? Or was she desperate, hoping he would be able to comfort her friend in ways that she couldn’t? 

Jason enters class with gritted teeth, determined to hold himself to a new promise: He can’t fall for McNamara’s trap. Even if it kills him to do so.

. . .

Veronica Sawyer finds herself hypnotized by the bouncing of blonde curls. Up and down, side to side, like gentle waves of gold. Heather McNamara drags her down the hall, not bothering to consider the numbness buzzing in Veronica’s calves. 

Moments ago, Ram Sweeney had been cozying up by her ear— breath cold. Everything about them was so, so cold. From their eyes to their words, there wasn’t a hint of warmth when it came to these… ghosts? Hallucinations? People? She wasn’t sure of what to call them anymore.

Heather seemed to be comfortable around JD, though the same couldn’t be said about him. He looked pained to be around the head cheerleader, and yet, there was the tiniest bit of sincerity in his eyes, giving away his softer interior. 

Why did he look at her like that? With gentle blue eyes, like a beautiful sky basking in her sunlight? His crooked smile and rough laugh were a response to her proximity, her words. What was so funny? Didn’t he find her annoying just a few months ago? Hadn’t he droned on to Veronica about how superficial and useless she was in the midst of one of his psychotic breakdowns?

“Heather, please slow down.” Veronica attempted to command the shorter girl, but to no avail. Her voice is cracked, soft. It’s drowned out by all the noise surrounding her.

“Man, I love this school!” Kurt Kelly hollers, sprinting right past Veronica. He chest bumps some dude in a red varsity jacket who, obviously, doesn’t respond. It’s not like he can see Kurt. “Weren’t you on the track team ‘Ronica? Why are you being such a slowpoke?”

“Looks like I’m out of practice.” Veronica snaps back, yanking her arm away from McNamara, who finally comes to a halt.

“Ronnie?” Heather questions, her glossy lips pursing together. 

“I feel sick.”

“Do you want me to go to the bathroom with you?”

“It’s okay, just tell Mrs. Bassett that I’m running late.”

Veronica bursts into the girls bathroom as the late bell rings. When did her palms get all sweaty? Why is she so angry all of a sudden?

“It’s not like you to be jealous.” Chandler is standing in front of one of the sink mirrors, her thumb on her lip— wiping away at Drain-O. “What? Don’t tell me you can’t handle someone as pathetic as McNamara talking to your little boy-toy?”

“She’s not pathetic.” Veronica locks herself in a stall, sitting on the toilet in defiance.

“But you’re jealous.” Chandler reiterates. “How possessive of you.”

Red pumps lean back and forth, clicking on semi-sticky bathroom floor tiles. 

“I hate seeing you guys at school.” Veronica whispers, burying her face in her hands. “I wish you would just leave me alone.”

“I didn’t ask to be here. If you’d just move on, you’d be free.”

“It’s not that fucking simple!” A (somewhat) scarred hand pulls harshly on choppy brown hair, attempting to release the frustration building up. “You little blonde shit. Rot in hell.”

“You know the humidity there messes up my hair.” Chandler huffs, suddenly appearing in front of Veronica inside the stall. “You know, the first step to moving on would be accepting that you were given a second chance and weren’t arrested for first degree murder. You can thank your incompetent police department for that one.”

Whether she realizes it or not, Veronica presses her legs together in an attempt to make herself smaller. She bows down before her remorse, guilt, and fear. She bows down to Heather Chandler, who stares at her like she’s scum. Even in death, the Beauty Queen still calls the shots. Damn her.

“I tried to come clean.” Veronica croaks, massaging her scalp. “I told them, I told them everything, and they called me insane. I told them I killed you. That I killed Kurt. That I killed Ram. I told them the kind of gun I held, where I left you, the time of day, everything! I even showed them my diary, I offered to give my DNA!”

“I know, Veronica.”

“And they wouldn’t re-open the cases! They told me that the suicides gave the community peace, that I needed to stop attention seeking just because my boyfriend nearly blew himself up to bits. Hell, they told me to stop dragging him into my issues?! Excusing him of his own fucking crimes because he had just tried to barbecue himself!” 

“Ronnie-“

“I should have just killed myself, maybe then those pigs would have done something.”

Veronica flinches at the sudden chill pooling at the top of her head. It almost feels like a hand. She wishes it were warm, that it held some semblance to weight.

She covers her mouth with her palm, biting into the hardened skin. Fuck, even her tears feel like freezing rain.

“You should have.” Heather’s voice is like a sharp blade ready for carnage. But when Veronica looks up, she sees Heather crying too. Her beautiful features are scrunched up in anguish, while her body shakes violently. Heather was never a pretty crier.

“You should have killed yourself, Veronica.” She spits out, but her venomous voice doesn’t match her desperation. Transparent, lifeless fingers caress Veronica’s sunken cheeks.

Though life will always surrender to death, there are instances in which the Grim Reaper himself will fall to his knees and sob. He has always understood the importance and precision of time. Nothing can happen too late or too early. It has to be right, it has to be perfect. 

Yet, humanity is anything but.

Children are suddenly murdered by their mothers & fathers, a bullet will pierce through the wrong target, one blinded by love can lose themselves to the immorality of so-called romance, and teenagers who feel like they have nothing left to offer will become their own undertakers.

Even Death will mourn loss.

“I wish you weren’t here anymore” Heather crouches down, laying her head on Veronica’s thighs. “I wish you were gone.”

“I know.”

“Please, stop making me say these things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

Heather Chandler dissipates into thin air, while Veronica Sawyer’s fingers linger above the space dirty-blonde hair had inhabited just a few seconds ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to post a new chapter, school has been kicking me in the ass. hopefully i can get a few more written down once the quarter ends and my 2 week break starts! i really want to update this fic semi-regularly :)


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